Santa Fe
by MarcusJuniusBrutus
Summary: Ten years later, Jack moves to Santa Fe leaving his wife, Sarah, and their son, Michael. As Jack learns how to be a real Cowboy, Michael learns how to sell papes.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: Michael is my character, but everything else belongs to Disney.

**Prologue**

(_November 12, 1909_)

Francis "Jack" Sullivan sat hunched over his notebook scribbling the last details of the story that he was writing for _The Sun_. There were deadlines to meet, and he knew he was pushing it, as usual. Last Christmas, his wife, Sarah, bought him a new pocket watch, but even that didn't motivate him. In fact, he never looked at it, except every morning as he wound it.

Finally, Francis stuffed the pen and notebook in his pocket and charged towards the office building. By the time he entered the editor's office, he was out of breath.

"There it is, Denton- the story on the new factory union. It's a front-pager for sure." He was grinning from ear to ear as he slapped the notebook down on Bryan Denton's desk. Denton picked it up, flipped it open, and began to read. "So, what do you think?"

"You're right, Jack; it's good. It's also really interesting material, especially for you."

Francis's smile dimmed. "But?"

"But the front page is about the new base that the Navy founded in Pearl Harbor yesterday. Sorry, Jack, but you missed the deadline again."

Jack sat down and stared at the large grandfather clock next to the wall off to the left. "Hey, you're right. I guess you can have 'em type up the story for tomorrow."

Denton forced a smile. "I guess I can, but you know as well as I do that I can't put day-old news on the front page. Listen, Jack, I would really appreciate it if you would get your articles in on time. I've been kind of lenient because we've known each other for so long, but…"

"I know, I know. I'll get 'em in, Denty."

"Thank you."

Jack stood awkwardly and took his notebook from Denton. "I'll be going, then." He ripped out the pages with the story and handed them over to the editor. "Anyway, I'm happy for these union guys."

"So am I."

Sullivan ambled out of the office with his hands crammed in his pockets. He stared around at the activity which perpetually buzzed around the newspaper building. "Hey, Patrick, what're you doin' this evening?"

The young Irish immigrant smiled apologetically. "My mum's been ill, so I've been staying home to take care of her. I'm sure you can have Davie or Les over for dinner, though."

"I'm sure," Jack echoed unenthusiastically. In truth, he wanted a change of company- not that there was anything wrong with his wife's family. The three boys had been Newsies together for several years. Les Jacobs was, in fact, still working for the newspaper, but David had kept his promise to his father and returned to school. He was now serving as an attorney to blue-collar workers all around the city.

With nothing else to do, Jack put on his black bowler hat and began to hunt around the city for some new scoop. Suddenly, everything seemed routine and uninteresting to him. Anything new, such as the new trend of "cubism" art, was ridiculous.

When he returned to his home, defeated, he tossed his hat and the couch and went to find his wife. "Sarah! I'm home!"

She emerged from their bedroom, tying up her long brown hair into a bun. "How was work?" she inquired apprehensively.

"Same as it has been, but it's nothing to get concerned about." He planted a tender kiss on her outstretched cheek. "You know, I've been thinking…"

Sarah quickly turned away and picked up her needlework. "Santa Fe?"

"You don't have to say it like that. I really mean it this time."

"That's what worries me. I think I wouldn't mind coming with you if it was only me that I had to think about. What about Michael? He's only seven, and I don't want to uproot him from his life here without knowing what waits for him there."

"Well, I could go on ahead and get a place set up for us. Then I'll send you train tickets, and you can follow."

Sarah began to embroider with a vengeance. "What do you want us to do in the meantime? I don't have a job anymore; not since you became a reporter."

"Well, Michael could become a Newsie. He'll have Les there to look out for him, after all."

"If this is really what you want."

"It is. I'll tell Denton tomorrow morning."

Sarah jumped up and hugged him tightly. "Then, I'll see you in Santa Fe, Jack."


	2. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: See Prologue.

**Chapter One**

(_October 1, 1910_)

"Hurry up, Cowboy."

Michael wiped the sweat off his head with a red bandanna and limped after the others. "I think I hurt my leg," he whimpered.

"Oh, stop your bawlin'."

Michael bit his lip and ran for his life. He had no idea what had induced him to enter Brooklyn in the first place, and all he was aware of was that he had to get out, and everyone else was outrunning him.

He felt a strong hand on his shoulder halt him, and he burst into tears. "I'm s…sorry, mister. I didn't mean to!"

The tall policeman who stopped him smiled sympathetically. "I could tell, but stealin' is stealin', and that earns you a night dah slammah."

"I'm sorry!" the boy repeated pitifully.

"This way. We'll walk; it's not far."

"Yes, sir."

"What's yah name, kid?"

"Michael Sullivan," Michael answered, walking meekly beside him.

"Sullivan?" the policeman repeated with a laugh. "Not Jack's son? I hoid he had a son named Michael."

"Yeah, his friends call him Jack, but his name is really Francis."

"That's him. He's probably told you about me- Spot Conlon."

"Um, no. Not really."

The policeman looked instantly put out. "Eh, you must not've been paying close enough attention. So, how's the ol' Cowboy doin'?"

"I dunno. He only wrote to us once… He's in Santa Fe now."

"Finally gone and done it, then? Never mind; I'm sure he's fine. And here's the jail."

Timidly, Michael entered the worn down building to spend his first night ever in jail. Then he noticed Conlon staring uncertainly at him. "What is it, sir?"

"Oh, nothin'. You're sure you're really Jackie boy's son, though?"

"Pretty sure."

"'Kay. I just don't remember him being so… small."

Michael sighed. "Yeah, I get that a lot." The boy glanced around at his cell mates and huddled in a corner with his knees pressed up against his chest.

A bent, white-haired man sat across from him and glared silently in his direction. On the sole cot, a filthy, red-haired man was sleeping and sleep-talking. "Move, move, move. Get the lead outta your pants…"

It took a while before Michael himself was able to fall asleep, despite the fact that he was worn out from a day's work. Still, he was more than ready to get up again when Mr. Conlon came to get him the next morning.

"Why don' I walk yah home, kid? Yah got time before yah hafta get your papes."

"Sure. Thanks." Michael bolted to his feet and ran out the open cell door.

It wasn't even dawn when they entered the apartment, but Sarah was awake and dressed for work. "Michael, I was so worried!" she cried, throwing her arms around him. "Thank you for bringing him home, Spot."

"My pleasure, Sarah." He turned to leave, then stopped halfway out the door. "Buy a lotta papes today, kid. I happen to know you'll get a real good headline."

Michael shuddered at the mention of papes. Selling them was not a job he was cut out for. He buried himself deeper in his mother's arms. "Thanks again, Mr. Conlon."

"Sure thing, kid." With that he shut the door and headed back to Brooklyn.


	3. Chapter 2

_A/N: For everyone's information, I'll probably update mostly on weekends._

_Ramona- As you can see, Jack's profession didn't last too long._

_GinevraTheNewsElf__- Thanks for the support. By the way, your forum's off to a nice start, too. I stopped by there to say 'hi.'_

_Disclaimer: See Prologue. The New Mexicans are mine, too._

**Chapter Two**

(_October 1, 1910_)

Another heat wave poured over him, and Jack wiped his sweat with a red bandana. There he was in Santa Fe, New Mexico on a cattle drive to Magdalena, and he was feeling completely miserable.

"What's the matter, city boy?" Lenny jeered.

"Ah, he's probably just saddle-sore."

"Maybe it's the desert getting to him."

Jack glared back and sat straighter in his saddle. Just the fact that he had gotten this job had surprised all the old cowboys, and he was quite proud of that accomplishment. He figured he would earn their respect given time, and he just had to wait out their teasing until then.

Joe Beeler was the most sympathetic of all of them. "We were all new at one time or another," he reminded Jack, who was gritting his teeth.

"Yeah, I was just thinkin' 'bout my family, though."

"You said you have a wife and kid back in the city?"

"Yeah, I wrote to them a couple of times, but I know how unreliable the mail is."

Joe nodded. "I wouldn't count on them getting your letters."

"Hey watch those strays!" Carter shouted.

Joe and Jack paused to round up the stragglers before continuing to talk.

"What are you doing here, anyway?"

Jack frowned. "Hearding cattle. What does it look like I'm doing?"

"No, I mean what are you doing in New Mexico? You have a family that cares for you back in your home, and that's more than the rest of us can say."

"It's always been my dream to come out here to live the rest of my life away from the crowded city, newspaper deadlines…"

"…and responsibility."

"Somethin' like that."

"Well, you have responsibility, like it or not- a responsibility to your family."

Jack snorted. "This from someone who doesn't have one."

"I used to. My dad moved to New York City when I was five because he wanted a change of lifestyle… but he never sent for my mother or me."

"So, what? You think I'm abandonin' my family or somethin'?"

"That's what it looks like to me."

"Hey, guys!" Carter shouted. "Are you napping over there?"

Jack smiled grimly and charged after the straying cattle.


	4. Chapter 3

_A/N: GeekOnDisplay- Well, unfortunately, not everyone likes to read long chapters, but I hope this one has enough dialogue for you. Thanks; I try to keep my reviews in mind._

Disclaimer: See Prologue.

**Chapter Three**

(_October 2, 1910_)

"Extrie! Extrie! Bomb explodes in _Los Angeles Times_!" Michael's selling partner, Johnny, cried. Newspapers traded hands. "Thank you, sir. Hey, Michael, are you selling or what?"

"Right, sorry." He rubbed his eyes sleepily. "21 dead; more injured! Thank you, ma'am."

"That's the way. _Times_ building blows up!" Johnny looked around. "We need a new spot. Looks like everyone here has a pape."

They ran off toward the nearby Central Park, pleased with their success. "I'm glad Mr. Conlon gave me that tip."

"Yeah, I guess he's not too bad for a Brooklyn copper. Hey, did yah hear that that lady journalist is coming back to work for the _World_ again?"

"Nellie Bly?"

"That's the one. Betcha there are some more great papes in our future." He grinned lazily. "Good headlines do half the work for us."

"Hey, can we take a break? I'm dead tired."

Johnny groaned overdramatically. "Not again! You've gotta toughen up a little."

"I'm just not used to this."

"You've been saying that for a year."

"That's because I _haven't_ gotten used to it yet."

"Oh, fine. You can. I'll keep selling, though."

Michael collapsed onto a bench with a stack of papers in his lap. "Maybe I should find a different job," he mused. He never would have said so to the other newsies; he didn't want them to think that he would abandon them. At the same time, he didn't think it would hurt to look around for other jobs.

"If you're so tired, we could get some lunch when we're done here."

"With what money? We'll barely have enough for supper as it is."

"We could hang around outside of Tibby's until your dad's old boss goes in to eat. When he sees us, he'll invite us to join him."

Michael frowned. "We did that last week."

"Yeah, that's how I know it'll work."

"I don't know." In a way, he felt like it was taking advantage of the man's kindness.

"Sure you do. You're as hungry as I am."

"Fine… We'll go now, but I don't want to do it again any time this month."

"It's a deal."

In the distance there was a loud _bang_. Michael jumped off the bench, and both ran to find the source. They weren't the only ones.

"It must be those unions again," one professional-looking man said to another as they ran out of a bank and into Times Square.

"It's like that newspaper article," Johnny whispered, staring at the paper in his hand. As in Los Angeles, the New York Times building looked severely damaged, though not to the same degree. Employees fled from the scene, minus the reporters, who were far too busy gathering any information that they could; onlookers fled toward it. "Guess what, Michael?"

"What?"

"We'll have another good headline tomorrow. Maybe we can afford to buy lunch for ourselves."


End file.
